Marriage and Other Games

by Veronica Henry

  ‘No!’ said Sebastian. ‘I keep telling you. It doesn’t matter. No one cares.’

  ‘I do,’ said Charlotte firmly. ‘At least a clean jumper and some lipstick.’

  Twenty minutes later they were ensconced at a table by the inglenook fireplace with a gin and tonic each. The pub wasn’t full of people whispering and nudging, as Charlotte had imagined. Everyone seemed quite open about it. Norman hadn’t batted an eyelid at their appearance, just took their order cheerfully and poured them their drinks.

  ‘Hey, London Lady. Saw you in the paper.’ Darren walked past on his way from the bar and raised his glass to her with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Yes, and just for the record, I’m not shagging her,’ Sebastian informed him, tipping back in his chair.

  Charlotte blushed scarlet. Darren dug Sebastian in the ribs.

  ‘Wouldn’t blame you if you were,’ he declared.

  ‘Excuse me!’ said Charlotte. ‘I am sitting here.’ But she couldn’t help laughing. Sebastian was right. No one in Withybrook gave a monkey’s about her past. Or her present, for that matter. Suddenly she felt as if she could breathe again. She’d shut herself in the cottage for days, only scuttling out when she had to, filling up at the petrol station the other side of Comberton for fear of bumping into anyone. Particularly . . .

  She banished that thought from her head. She didn’t want to know what Fitch might think of her. Not a lot, she suspected. She had been steeling herself to go and see him and set the record straight, but hadn’t quite plucked up the courage. But now she thought perhaps she would.

  She realised that Sebastian had asked her something, and snapped back to attention.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How am I going to get Catkin back?’ he asked plaintively. ‘She won’t even answer the phone to me. How am I going to get her to believe that I didn’t set out to hurt her?’

  He looked utterly anguished.

  Charlotte realised she’d seen that expression before. But not on his face. On Ed’s. The agonised expression of a man desperate to be understood. She picked up her knife and fork and cut through the crust on her game pie.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll come round eventually,’ she told him, knowing that she sounded totally unconvincing.

  ‘She’ll never forgive me.’

  ‘Of course she will.’

  Sebastian stared at her intently. ‘Do you really think so?’ he demanded. ‘Women aren’t all that forgiving, you know.’

  ‘Yes, they are. She probably just needs time. And a bit of space. To think.’

  ‘Like you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Isn’t that why you came here? To give yourself time and space?’

  ‘I suppose so . . .’

  ‘So. Have you forgiven your husband for what he did?’

  Charlotte was floored for a moment.

  ‘Why the interrogation?’

  ‘I’m interested. Have you?’

  ‘What he did was different,’ she protested.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He knew exactly what he was doing. And it was despicable. Totally premeditated.’

  ‘So why did he do it? Just because he thought he could get away with it?’

  Charlotte looked down at her plate.

  ‘Because he wanted us to have a new life,’ she managed finally. ‘He wanted me to stop work, and get a house in the country. Because he wanted . . . to keep on trying for a baby.’

  She swiftly put a piece of pie in her mouth so she could swallow down her tears with it.

  ‘Jesus,’ breathed Sebastian, enthralled. ‘He must have loved you very much.’

  Charlotte had to lie down after lunch. Two double gin and tonics, a heavy meal and all the emotional upheaval had exhausted her. Talking to Sebastian had silted everything up again. She just didn’t know what to think any more. She lay on her bed, her mind racing, trying to sleep. But sleep eluded her, just as it had the last few nights. She was physically and emotionally exhausted.

  One thing she had to do, she decided, was talk to Fitch. She knew he’d have seen the news. And the longer she left it, the harder it was going to be to talk to him about it. She decided she would walk down to his workshop on the pretext of choosing a bit of slate for the fireplace in the dining room. She slid back out of bed and went to look at herself in the mirror.

  She looked awful. She’d have to spend at least an hour on her appearance to look even half decent. She decided not to bother. She was only going to see Fitch to explain things. She pulled on her coat and stuck on her boots, then went out into the high street.

  Fitch’s workshop was adjacent to his house. She tapped on the door and stepped inside. He was slicing up pieces of stone with a circular saw. All around him were pieces of marble and granite waiting to be cut up into headstones or fireplaces. Everything was covered in a fine layer of stone dust. The noise from the saw was tremendous, and totally drowned out the afternoon play on Radio Four that was burbling from a digital radio perched on a shelf. Dido jumped up as soon as she saw Charlotte and came running over. Fitch turned off his machinery and took off his mask.

  ‘Hey.’

  He smiled. Politely, Charlotte thought. He didn’t look exactly thrilled to see her.

  ‘Hi.’ She stuffed her hands in her pockets. It was freezing in the workshop. ‘I came to see about a piece of slate. For the fireplace.’

  ‘No problem. Have you got the measurements?’

  She nodded, pulling a scrap of paper out of her pocket on which she’d written the dimensions. He took it from her, studying it carefully, not meeting her eye.

  ‘And . . . I came to say sorry.’

  He looked up, raising an eyebrow. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You must have seen the papers.’

  ‘Well, yes. You couldn’t exactly miss them.’

  ‘I should have told you.’ She sighed. ‘Christmas night. I should have explained.

  He shrugged. ‘It’s none of my business.’

  ‘No. But you trusted me with your business—’

  He put a hand on her shoulder. She felt a warm tingle.

  ‘Charlotte, it’s not a problem.’

  ‘And I haven’t been shagging Sebastian,’ she blurted out. ‘In case you thought I had.’

  He laughed at that. Properly laughed, and she saw the wariness go out of his face.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ she asked indignantly.

  ‘You,’ he replied. ‘You worry too much.’

  Charlotte felt a little bit disgruntled. Here she was swallowing her pride and trying to apologise.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you think it’s funny. I didn’t want you to get the wrong end of the stick, that’s all—’

  ‘Of course I didn’t.’

  ‘Well, good.’ Flustered, she looked down at the cement floor, not knowing where to go with this next.

  ‘Come here, you.’

  Fitch pulled her to him and enveloped her in a big hug.

  ‘The important thing is,’ he said, ‘are you all right? It must have been awful.’

  She sank into his warmth. The softness of his thick padded shirt. She loved the comfort of his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  ‘It was awful. But it’s over now. I can try and get back to normal. The house is nearly finished. You should come and have a look.’ She shut her eyes, wondering if she dared ask. Yes, of course she did. ‘In fact, why don’t you come for supper? I’ve got a proper kitchen now—’

  ‘Actually,’ said Fitch, ‘I’ve got some news myself.’

  Something in his tone of voice made her step back and look at him. She couldn’t quite read his expression.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hayley’s back,’ he said finally.

  There was an awkward pause.

  ‘Oh,’ said Charlotte brightly. ‘That’s good. Isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Fitch nodded. ‘I think so.’

  Charlotte suddenly felt like crying. She blinked hard.

 
‘The bastard lamped her one,’ Fitch explained. ‘She came home with a black eye. But at least he knocked some sense into her. She wants us to make a go of it. Get back together.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘The girls are thrilled.’

  ‘Of course they are.’

  ‘I guess it’s what I wanted.’

  Charlotte looked at him doubtfully. ‘Even after what she did to you?’ ‘Hey,’ said Fitch. ‘Everyone’s allowed one mistake.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course. We’re only human.’

  Charlotte started to shiver. The air in the workshop was icy and the floor was freezing. The cold was seeping up into her bones.

  ‘That’s great, Fitch,’ she said. ‘I’m really happy for you. Anyway, I’ve got to go.’

  ‘I’ll drop the slate up. Tomorrow?’

  ‘Whenever. Thanks.’

  She nearly tripped over Dido in her haste to get out. As she shut the door behind her she heard the sound of his saw start up.

  She huddled herself into her coat, keeping her head down against the east wind that was blowing down the high street. She didn’t want to meet anyone. Didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t trust herself not to cry.

  Fitch’s news had totally rocked her. She realised now that she had been pretending to herself that she didn’t have feelings for him, but as soon as she saw him she had desperately wanted to feel his arms around her. He made her feel so safe, and warm inside. He made her feel as if nothing bad would ever happen again. She’d wanted him to sweep her off her feet, take her into the warmth and cosiness of his little house, tell her everything was going to be all right and then . . . maybe . . . kiss her . . . But now, there was no chance of that. He had made that very clear. He had gone back to his wife, the wife he had loved all along, even though she had treated him appallingly. Charlotte just hoped Hayley knew how lucky she was, and that she had learned her lesson.

  There was one blessing. At least she hadn’t made a fool of herself and declared her true feelings before he’d dropped his bombshell. She’d never have been able to live that down.

  She woke in the middle of the night with the moon shining down on her. She had got used to sleeping without curtains. It made her feel connected to the world outside. When she couldn’t sleep, she counted the stars splattered across the inky-black sky.

  But tonight, she wasn’t counting stars. She lay in the moonlight, thinking about the conversations she had had that day. Both of them, with Sebastian and Fitch, had made her realise the power of forgiveness, and how cruel it was to withhold it from someone you loved. She had never really looked at the situation from Ed’s side. She had only judged what he had done from her position. And perhaps she was wrong.

  Maybe it was time to forgive Ed.

  After all, if Fitch could forgive Hayley, whose crime was committed out of total self-interest, and hadn’t been borne out of love, then who was she to carry on judging her husband? He had, after all, just been desperate to give her what they both wanted, the thing that was a God-given right for most people. They had loved each other passionately once. Up until the moment he had committed his crime. She remembered them making love the night of the ball, and how intense it had been. She had loved him more than ever at that point, so why couldn’t she just come to terms with what he had done and return to that point?

  She could. The more she thought about it, the more obvious it seemed that it was time to forgive him and move on. They could start again together. He was due out of prison in a few months. They could move here. To Withybrook. They could rent a little cottage - there were always plenty in the area available to let. She could take up Sebastian’s offer to redecorate Withybrook Hall. The money would be good; it would be six months’ work at least, and they could live off that while Ed decided what he was going to do. He’d probably be pretty unemployable, with a prison record, but he could start up his own business down here. And with Withybrook Hall in her portfolio she would soon pick up more business. And then maybe, eventually, they could buy their own place - something like Myrtle Cottage, which they could do up and sell on.

  Charlotte became increasingly excited. It would be a whole new life for them. And Ed would love it down here - the moors, the sea. She could imagine him going into the Trout for his pint every evening. They could get a dog - a Border terrier like Dido. Or something bigger - a retriever. A gun dog.

  Yes, she decided. They could start anew, with none of the shadows of their former life hanging over them. She could hardly wait until daybreak. She would phone the prison, speak to Ed, ask him to send her another visiting order.

  Fitch was so right. Everyone was allowed one mistake. Hers had been not being able to forgive. But now she had looked deep in her heart, she could. Until Ed had made his mistake, she had loved him unreservedly. There was no reason why they couldn’t go back to how they were.

  Seventeen

  The morning of Charlotte’s second prison visit dawned bright and breezy, with a tingling crisp air that whipped colour into your cheeks.

  This time, she decided she wasn’t going to apologise for her presence and try to remain inconspicuous. If she wanted to dress up, she would. She put on a stripy dress that Ed had bought her in Jigsaw and had always loved her in. Her hair was long enough now to pin up in a clip with a few wispy tendrils hanging down. She put on her make-up carefully. Then she went to her dressing-table drawer and slid her wedding ring back on. She hadn’t worn it for months, and it felt strange on her finger. She looked at it, wondering if she was over-egging the omelette by wearing it. She decided to keep it on. It was symbolic, after all, of the gesture she was about to make.

  For better or worse. Those had been their vows. And it didn’t get worse than what they had already been through. So, by that argument, the only way was up. And she couldn’t wait.

  She ran down to the kitchen to make some coffee, then heard the front door go. It was Nikita, who had come to help finish off the grouting in the bathroom.

  ‘You look smart,’ said Nikita suspiciously.

  ‘I’ve got a business meeting,’ Charlotte lied effortlessly. ‘I’ll be away all day. Will you be OK?’

  Nikita nodded, then brandished a prospectus.

  ‘I’ve found a college course,’ she said eagerly. ‘I’m going to apply, to go in September. I wondered if you could do me a reference.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’d be delighted.’

  She picked up her handbag. She felt guilty leaving Nikita when she was obviously so keen to talk, but she knew if she was late to the prison they’d be difficult about letting her in.

  ‘I better go, or I’m going to be late. ’

  ‘See you then,’ said Nikita. ‘Good luck with your meeting.’

  The sun was dazzling as Charlotte left Withybrook, and she felt the light fill her heart as she drove through the village. She negotiated the narrow street carefully as she’d learned to - you never knew when you might meet a tractor or a herd of cows or a muck-spreader. She reflected how she had grown used to life in the country, and how she’d learned to do without so many things that she had once relied upon - two-hour dry cleaning, twenty-four-hour petrol stations, eight-screen cinemas. Life was simpler here, but somehow richer. There was so much more human contact. She reflected on the people that had come into her life. Not just Fitch and Sebastian, but Sid from the garage who had changed her tyre when she’d a slow puncture and panicked, and refused to charge her for it. And Darren from the pub, who had come and chopped the tree down in the back garden that was blocking the light from the kitchen, and also refused to take any money. And Norman, the landlord at the Trout, who had dropped her off a bag of daffodil bulbs, though God knows where he had come by them. She had learned not to ask. She also knew that one day she would be able to repay them all in some way, because that was how village life seemed to work - a system of barter, with your favours on credit indefinitely, with no one keeping tabs as such.

&nb
sp; Yes, she thought, she had done right to come here. It had healed her in so many ways, and restored her faith in human nature. And it would be just the place for Ed to start again, after everything he had been through. Withybrook would be the perfect antidote to prison, with its live and let live attitude.

  The truck flew effortlessly up the motorway, as if it knew how important the meeting was. She sang at the top of her lungs as she drove, playing Ed’s favourite REM cassette over and over again. As the familiar tracks came on, they reminded her of all the good times they had shared. She could picture him dancing in their old kitchen as they waited for friends to arrive for dinner, opening another bottle of wine, sharpening the carving knife, stopping to kiss her on the nose as he walked past . . . That could all happen again. They’d make new friends. Get a social life. Not on the scale they used to, perhaps, but Charlotte was all for keeping it simple this time around.